


Each Star to You

by Myzic



Series: Whumptober 2020 [13]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Blindness, Canon Divergence - Episode: s01e18 Juno Steel and the Final Resting Place, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Not Beta Read, Other, Partial Blindness, Whumptober 2020, we die like hyperion mayors, why is there so much fluff in my whump fics?, written like one of those domestic pre-season 2 fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27221863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myzic/pseuds/Myzic
Summary: “I can’t see you, Nureyev. I don’t— Are the lights still off?” Juno grabbed at this solution like it was a lifeline, “It’s pretty freaking dark from what I can see. Or, can’t.” He didn’t let go of Nureyev.“The lights…” He heard Nureyev’s tone wobble with some inextricable emotion he couldn’t make out, “they’re on, Juno. They’re on in this room too. It doesn’t look like any of the power went off in here. You can’t… see me?”Juno breathed dust, choking on the filmy layer of it that settled in his throat. His pulse, which had started to settle after he realized he wasn’t dead or dying began to thud. The lights were on. The lights were on. Which meant he had no reason to not be able to see Nureyev’s face right now, which sounded as if though it were right in front of him, a little over a foot if he had to guess.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Series: Whumptober 2020 [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956226
Comments: 2
Kudos: 103
Collections: peter nureyev is sexy with a knife TPP fics (read)





	Each Star to You

**Author's Note:**

> *note: If you have a disability, you are not in any way less. In this fic, the way I characterize Juno is that he takes parts of himself, and through the lens of his depression, uses the perceived shortcomings as ways to fuel his dislike of himself.

The white lines in the egg of Purus shone, like rivers of light carving through the surface of it, and Juno couldn’t help but close his eyes as it hatched. Before, he’d always thought he’d be brave enough to look his death in the eye as it came, but now he couldn’t bring himself to. Maybe he’d earned it, this one mercy. For saving the world and all.

The sound of screeching and metal filled his ears and everything was dark. 

He… wasn’t dead? Juno opened his eye and it was dark here, but he was still alive, still sucking in pained breaths, adrenaline surging through him with nowhere to go. And it was dark. Not just dark as in shadowy outlines and stub your toe against the table in the middle of the night, like  _ pitch black _ .

He blinked hard, feeling his eyelid press briefly together before he opened it again. Nothing.

“Juno? Juno— you impossible idiot—”

“Wh—what? What’s… I’m alive, Nureyev!” Juno called out, casting his voice into the abyss around him, “I’m alive.” He breathed and said, “Can you see anything on your end? I think the lights went out with the bomb, I can’t see a thing.”

“Thank god, Juno. You’re alive…” he said with a muffled gasp on the other side of the door, and Juno felt a pang of guilt surge through him. He hadn’t time to feel guilty when he thought he was going to die, but it looked like he would have plenty to do that now. He was alive. Juno tried to feel something, relief maybe, but couldn’t quite manage it past the weariness. “There’s— the lights look fine from this side of the door. It must have been contained to just the room you’re in. Can you find the airlock?” 

Juno felt around for it, sliding his hands on the rough, featureless door until he found a pad somewhere to the right of it. He tapped at it a few times blindly before a whoosh of air and deep grinding of stone emanated from the door at his back. His eyelid fluttered open and shut rapidly as he tried to make out something, anything other than the darkness.

But there was nothing. 

“Juno!” a body collided into his and he startled, not expecting the sudden weight, the feeling of arms around him. “The bomb went off, and you’re— you’re okay. You’re  _ alive _ ,” The arms released him from their embrace and clutched at his forearms, “Thank god.”

He breathed a shaky breath, feeling the stiff material of Nureyev’s shirt under his fingers, the skinny bone from weeks of malnourishment. But he couldn’t see it, and he found his hands grasping desperately up his arms. 

“I can’t see you, Nureyev. I don’t— Are the lights still off?” Juno grabbed at this solution like it was a lifeline, “It’s pretty freaking dark from what I can see. Or, can’t.” He didn’t let go of Nureyev.

“The lights…” He heard Nureyev’s tone wobble with some inextricable emotion he couldn’t make out, “they’re on, Juno. They’re on in this room too. It doesn’t look like any of the power went off in here. You can’t… see me?”

Juno breathed dust, choking on the filmy layer of it that settled in his throat. His pulse, which had started to settle after he realized he wasn’t dead or dying began to thud. The lights were on. The lights were on. Which meant he had no reason to not be able to see Nureyev’s face right now, which sounded as if though it were right in front of him, a little over a foot if he had to guess.

“I can’t see you,” he said disbelievingly, “I can’t see  _ shit _ . I—” Juno squinted, and could almost make out the dim, vaguely lighter area outside the door, but fuck him for all he could make out Nureyev’s features that had grown so familiar to him in the past weeks. “I can almost make out the doorway, I think? I don’t fucking know, goddammit.” He began to breathe hard, panic coursing through his veins as Juno blinked rapidly, willing something to clear up, some bit more detail to solidify if he just forced it to.

“It’s going to be okay, Juno. We’re going to get out of here, alright? Just, trust me. Trust me, and I can guide you.” Peter gripped his hands and moved them, the skin of his palms warm and dry, so that Juno was holding on to his forearm. “Try and breathe.”

Juno went to snap back that he was breathing  _ godammit _ , and he didn’t need to be treated with little kid gloves, but he choked on his words harshly.

“If you would, Juno,” The words were condescending, but his tone was nothing but concerned, still tinged with the relief Juno had heard when the door between them opened. “For me?” And fuck, who was he to refuse when Nureyev sounded so worried after he’d left him on the other side of that door, fully willing to let him hear Juno die. To make him the sole audience of his death.

He breathed, slowly forcing air through his lungs. “Trying over here. My odds are pretty good, I think. If a world-ender couldn’t do the job, it’s not like a little hyperventilation’s going to finish me off at this point.” Juno felt the slight shudder through Nureyev’s frame under his fingers, the tremor of skin shaking involuntarily.

“Too soon?”

“Maybe a little. I would prefer it if you saved the near-death jokes until we’ve gotten you to a doctor, Juno. I would even settle for out of this crypt,” Peter said as he started to walk, Juno tightening his grip as he felt the pull forward, before adjusting to the pace. “There’s nothing but the dead down here, and I desperately want to be part of the world of the living again.”

That was right, wasn’t it? He was alive. Juno was still here, but what did that mean now? It wasn’t like he could shoot like this. And he couldn’t help anyone without his ability to shoot. Whatever bright future Nureyev and him had been planning was beyond his reach now too.

Juno wouldn’t even be able to see the galaxies Peter promised him anyway.

His hands were around Nureyev’s arm too tight, he knew, but he couldn’t force himself to relax his grip. At one point as they were walking through the tunnels— Juno didn’t know how close they were to the exit, couldn’t see how far they’d walked, and the memories of being brought in were layered behind weeks of pain and exhaustion— Nureyev’s hand had made its way on top of his, his grip a little too hard on top of Juno’s.

“Nureyev,” he began, pulse rocketing, “I can’t— I’m not gonna be able to follow through on that promise. Whatever sights you wanted to show me, I’m not going to be able to see them.” He laughed and didn’t like the way it sounded in his throat, “Fuck, I couldn’t even make out my fingers if I waved them in front of my face right now.”

“To be honest, the only thing I care about right now is getting out of here,” Peter said, “Everything else can come later. That’s not something you should be worrying about right now.” Juno wished he could see his face, watch his expression to see if he was telling the truth. “Besides, when we get to the doctor’s we’ll see if there’s anything they can do for your eye. You don’t need to give up yet, detective. There are options for you.”

This was a mistake. Nureyev was still holding out on him, still thinking there was some chance of Juno joining him on that great adventure. His sight was gone, and there would be no getting it back. 

He wanted to drop down on the spot, he was so tired. His arms ached from being held so tight, muscles wound up into iron, everything sore from being tense and feeling like he was about to die every day. And the weeks of brain fuckery and less than stellar accommodations might have had something to do with it too. So, Juno slapped a ‘problems for future me’ stamp on the conversation and let it go. For now.

“We’ll talk about it later,” he said instead of expressing his doubts. 

“Of course.”

They walked out of that tomb, turning the musty, silent halls. Juno held Nureyev’s arm too tight and Peter gripped him back until it felt like they were grasping each other. Taking whatever pieces that were left and holding each other together.

~

Rita and Nureyev got on well. Alarmingly so. They’d been awkward when they first met, Juno didn’t have to see to feel the tension when she’d caught them— and didn’t that just make him feel like a rebellious teen, out for a night on the town, sneaking back in through the window— hand in hand. 

But it wasn’t long after that they’d started getting along like a house on fire. They began to tag-team Juno— Nureyev waiting for him in the morning, startlingly domestic with the oatmeal he made for Juno and the odd burnt eggs. Rita would be there instead of at work, helping him pick out new furniture, stuff that contrasted better with the floor so he would have some chance of seeing it, rearranging his apartment until it looked the way it did now. 

The ‘looking’ bit was more of a recent development. It had been a month since they’d left the tomb and Juno had gotten his fun new diagnosis. Retinal vein occlusion. So, he’d been wrong. The partial blindness was supposed to be temporary… to a point. It would either clear up with the eye drops, or it would stay as crappy as it was now. 

But his chances of ever shooting a straight shot again were all but nill. Even if he did get all his vision back in the next few months, his other eye was still gone. 

The stir-craziness was getting to him. Juno missed it, feeling like he was helping people, the chases, the small amount of good he managed to scrounge out of himself and put in the world. It wasn’t possible for him to even walk down the street to the drug mart anymore. 

Juno had tried walking by himself to the corner store last week, but the sounds of the city, the traffic rushing past, engines rumbling, the people whose footsteps he could just make out over the steady, unrelenting rush of rain. 

He had stood there, maybe twenty or so feet down from his apartment, feeling drops of water sting his skin as they splashed up from a car passing him. At one point Juno heard a few people walk by and he tried to move away, but he couldn’t tell how far he should shift, to the left or the right, and heard their grumbles as they stepped around him, feet hitting the ground surely, confidently. You never thought about walking, about putting one foot in front of the other because it was instinctive, automatic.

Except, Juno did now. He had to think about it all the time and it was exhausting.

He stood there for longer than would normally be acceptable, experiencing all the sensations he had always ignored but was now forced to rely on, and felt the panic crawl over his skin until he stumbled his way back to the front door, twitchy and… lost. Frustrated that he couldn’t step a couple of feet outside of the three rooms his world had narrowed into, save the times he went outside, gripping Nureyev’s hand the entire time, feeling simultaneously guilty that he never said anything about Juno’s grip being far too tight to possibly be comfortable, and unwilling to loosen it.

Maybe Juno would have been able to walk down the street, achieve any semblance of independence if he hadn’t been refusing to practice using the fancy new cane Nureyev bought him after the doctor recommended it— but admitting that left a bitter taste on his tongue, so he kept leaving it at the side of the bed, untouched.

He spent ages trying to reacclimatize to his apartment, the furniture, the objects, relearning to do tasks he used to be able to accomplish without a second thought, but now struggled with. Chopping up a cucumber— a vegetable Nureyev had forced into his diet— and learning to curl his fingers so he could feel the cold, blunt edge of the knife against his knuckles. Things like restocking the fridge, scrambling for a towel after the shower when he forgot to set it aside beforehand, dripping wet and frustrated because he would have to clean it up after— all took so much more energy, that the most mundane things left him frustrated and worn out.

He could kind of make out vague colours, very blurry outlines if he turned his head, tried to make out the object in his peripheral vision. That’s what he was doing now, turning his head and tapping at the wall to turn the light switch on with little success. Juno didn’t need it the lights that badly anymore, but it did help Nureyev, who was in the kitchen sitting down for lunch with Juno now. 

His finger pressed flat to the wall again as he craned his neck. He growled, frustrated

“Here, love. It’s okay, you don’t need to get it for me—” Nureyev’s footsteps came up behind him and Juno found the bumps of his new light switch panel, covered in neon pink rhinestones, courtesy of Rita, and flicked it on before he could get there.

“I don’t need your help with everything, Nureyev.” He bit out, “I can turn on the goddamn  _ light switch _ without someone helping me. Not quite that useless on my own.”

“Of course, I didn’t mean to imply you were,” He backtracked and Juno tried to picture his expression. Dramatic and shocked maybe, over-the-top. He didn’t picture the crease between his eyebrows, the corners of his lips pinching with concern, jaw clenched in ways that had been so familiar in the crypt, but were now beyond his reach. “And you’re not useless, Juno. I would never think of you that way, and frankly, neither should you.”

“Right. Sure.” Juno said, clipped, “Which is why you jump to fulfill my every need. I so much as twitch a finger in distress and you’re on your feet in seconds. If the shoe fits… hell, if the shoe fits, you’re there to tie my laces for me.”

Something was bubbling up in him. Questions he’d been sitting on for weeks, but hadn’t let himself voice yet. Looked like it was all coming out now, and Juno didn’t think he could stop the flood of it if he tried. There was too much of it, this mass of burning confusion fueled by weeks of frustration and helpless wondering, twisted strands of questions that he couldn’t straighten out in his head.

“That’s not true. ” said Nureyev, “I know you are perfectly able to do things on your own. What’s this about? Why—”

“Why do you think I’m incapable by myself? That’s what this is about,” He felt his shoulders come up, “You pity me. The detective’s eyes aren’t so sharp anymore, and he couldn’t hit you if you waved a red flag at him. But guess what? I don’t need your pity.”

A stiff inhale. “You are the most capable person I’ve ever met, Juno. I’m sorry if my assistance seems like pity, but I can assure you it is not.”

It exploded out of him all at once, one sentence of helpless confusion he’d been holding back for weeks. 

“Then why are you  _ still here _ !” A silence followed his words and Juno filled the gap with his words, all of them pouring out too quickly now, “What other reason could you have for sticking around? I’m useless like this, I can’t even leave my apartment for god’s sake. The only reason you’re hanging around is guilt. You’re here out of some twisted sense of obligation.”

“Juno—”

He continued, cutting Nureyev off before he could respond in full. “Unless you’re still waiting for us to gallivant across the stars together, in which case, I hate to tell you, Nureyev, but it’s never going to happen. You’re just waiting around on a crapshoot that I can’t help you with,” Juno rushed forward, “so why haven’t you just left?”

He waited for a response, huffing with the surge of emotion that rushed out of him, a damn bursting far past its capacity.

“Are you done telling me my own reasons for staying with you, Juno?” He sounded unamused but firm.

“What?” he deflated slightly in surprise.

The next words to leave Nureyev’s mouth were more hesitant, unsure. “I—I didn’t realize you felt that way,” a deep breath, “about our trip. I wish you had expressed this sentiment to me sooner, but I haven’t stayed here with you out of some desire to play nursemaid the way you seem to have envisioned.”

Juno tried to force a little of that indignation froward, the fear and confusion that drove him. But his reserves were empty, and it left him hollow.

“I don’t get it,” he admitted miserably, “Why are you still hanging around when you could be bouncing from planet to planet? There’s a whole universe out there like you said, but you’re here.” Juno gestured out with his arms at his apartment, tiny, a bumpy stain in the top right corner of the roof, and the corners of the walls nicked and scored with grey and black lines.

Hesitant fingers touched his knuckles, slowly so Juno could pull away if he wanted. He didn’t.

“Did you ever think, Juno, that I was here of my own accord? That maybe I want to be here, that I want to be with you?” The grip on his hands was loose, but the fingers were warm on his palm. “Have you considered, perhaps, that I would rather be right where I am than somewhere else in the universe ‘bouncing planet to planet?’”

Juno… hadn’t. The notion of it had briefly flickered across his mind, but it was a weak thought, compared to the easy logic of his guilt theory, which now seemed ridiculous in the face of Nureyev’s own desires.

“No.” Juno said and hated how insecure it felt. He tried to explain, make it sound less pathetic, “I just don’t understand why you’re wasting your time with me when there is so. Much. Out. There. Things  _ worth _ seeing —but you’ve confined yourself to my shitty apartment.” He failed to make himself sound less pathetic.

“I get to decide who and what my time is worth spending on, and consider,” Nureyev sounded like he was struggling and Juno was briefly grateful that he wasn’t the only one. “I have measured each star in the universe and found them lacking in comparison to you, detective. Which is a particularly roundabout way of saying I would rather be with you than anywhere else.”

“That’s—” Terrifying. Flattering. The most daunting concept he had ever heard, “I don’t know if I believe you.” A sigh, disappointed but unsurprised. 

“Do you want… to separate?” His voice was devastatingly uncertain and the answer flew from Juno’s mouth immediately.

“ _ No _ .” He didn’t. Even when he speculated why Peter was still here, constantly bracing himself for the moment he would leave, Juno had never actually wanted him gone, which in turn made him dread it all the more.

“Then that’s that. I will not be broken up with by you, dear detective, unless you want me gone,” He squeezed his hands and Juno tentatively returned the gesture, “which doesn’t look like it’s going to happen.”

But that wasn’t fair to Nureyev. Even if he did stay, he couldn’t be here all the time. Right now, Juno was tying him down, binding him to a single spot which wasn’t a fair exchange at all. It had to be give-and-take.

“You can’t stay here forever,” Juno told him and felt a clench around his hands in response.

“If you don’t want me—” Peter sounded hurt, and he cut him off before he could finish.

“I mean, at some point, you’ll have to leave for work or something. Fuck, Peter, I can’t,” he breathed in, “I can’t weigh you down like that. This can’t just all be me, you deserve to see whatever’s out there. I won’t be a  _ burden _ .” Juno spat the words, disgusted by the thought.

“That’s not how I see our relationship, Juno. You aren’t some parasite draining me of life,” His hands were lifted and he felt warm breath ghosting over them before a kiss was pressed to the skin. A blush ran across his face, and goddamnit that wasn’t fair, he was trying to make an actual  _ point _ this time. “I am choosing to spend my life here because I want to.”

“No, I mean,” he grasped at his point, distracted, “when the year’s up and we know whether or not my sight comes back, I don’t think I’ll want to leave.” Juno quickly expanded, not wanting to be misunderstood, “At least not permanently, but you’ll want to do something by then. Work, I don’t know, get off this hunk of rock.”

Peter hesitated and Juno could imagine him picking out his words one by one, always so precise, so careful. “I suppose,” he began slowly, “I’ll leave at some point.”

“Just,” Juno struggled, “say that you’ll come back.” He pushed down the urge to dance around such mushy sounding words and said them anyway. There were some things you needed to say before they exploded out of you. Apparently.

Their lunches laid cold on the table, and at one point (yesterday. Hell, even fifteen minutes ago), he would rather have eaten the pounds of cold macaroni with the hardened, cement cheese sauce than have this conversation. Now, He was strangely grateful for it, like he didn’t have to hear Peter’s answer. He already knew what it would be, and the conviction of that feeling was a weight, leaden in his bones, but a good one. Grounding.

“Juno,” Nureyev breathed, the fingertips of his right hand slowly trailing up Juno’s arm until they were soft on his jaw, “I’ve come back for you every other time so far, haven’t I? I don’t think I could make myself stay away if I tried. My life is better for having you in it.” Juno inhaled shakily, closing his eyelid and taking in the sensation of the warm fingers on his cheek. “ _ I _ am better for having you in it.”

“Yeah,” he said, flushing, “I love you too.”

Juno supposed it would have to be enough— this faith that things would be alright between them. He tried to feel it, the certainty that Peter would be there for him as long as he said he would, and found that, surprisingly, he believed it.

**Author's Note:**

> Juno Steel luvs Nureyev~ and also s e l f s a b o t a g e
> 
> Could not convince myself to write this thing until 11pm and fuc me is late. Hhhrgghgh dialogue stil H a r d
> 
> Nureyev's first line of dialogue is mostly taken straight from Juno Steel and the Final Resting Place
> 
> I'm @themagicmistress on Tumblr!


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